One person’s waste

Today we were at an elderly people’s house.

That was my first time. I didn’t know what it would be like to enter a retirement village. You might see photos from advertisement brochures or have a glimpse through a window, but you wouldn’t have a chance to get to know what is it like until you close the door behind yourself and the odour of that place hits your face.

This hospital look alike was the home for a few old faces. Old and sad. Not all, but most of them. When pain and struggle take over your mood and mind, you don’t think how great it is to be still alive at the age of 95.

Many of them were disabled and half of them asleep. They were happily wasting their lives. One woman was constantly asking: “What am I doing here? What am I doing here?”. Everything was a question, life itself was a question. Once the biggest gift now turned to the biggest torture.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could have a bank of unwanted days of life. One person’s waste would become another one’s treasure.